


What makes heroic strife

by regshoe



Category: Flight of the Heron - D. K. Broster
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Sleeptalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regshoe/pseuds/regshoe
Summary: Night in the hut at Kinlochiel; or, how Keith learns about Ewen's sleep-talking habit.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 9





	What makes heroic strife

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during part 1, chapter 6, while Ewen and Keith are sharing a hut at Kinlochiel soon after the raising of the Prince's standard. It is intended to read as pre-slash, although there's only so much opportunity to be really shippy at this point in the book :P
> 
> Thanks very much to [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula) for beta reading!

Relentless as the rain over Kinlochiel was, and comfortless as were the thoughts that it brought him, Keith nevertheless drifted off to sleep at last, a stalk of heather tickling his cheek where it had insinuated itself between the folds of his cloak.

When he awoke, some time later, it was dark. The rain appeared to have eased off a little: it now whispered over the roof of the hut above him rather than drumming upon it as it had done earlier. Keith, however, through the bleary consciousness of his half-awake state, thought that another sound had woken him.

His right hand had reached out instinctively from the bed before he remembered that, of course, his sword was no longer by him. Instead, then, he raised his head carefully, wary lest the sound heralded the approach of an intruder—perhaps Lachlan, or some other of the multitude outside less trustworthy than his own captor—come to do him some mischief. In the darkness outside the hut the stretch of shadowy ground that gave onto the shore of the loch appeared empty; but that was not necessarily a comfort.

But then the sound came again—not from the doorway of the hut, where Keith was now watching intently, but from the sleeper on the floor.

'They will not—no, Donald...'

Keith sat up further, not understanding this development. 'Mr Cameron?' he hazarded. 'Are you awake?'

To this there was no response; but in a few moments more Ardroy, still huddled in his plaid on the floor, turned over so that he faced towards Keith and said more clearly, 'The Prince—' and abruptly broke off.

Keith looked more closely at him in the dim lantern-light. No, he was obviously still fast asleep, and still murmuring to himself, though the words were now too low for Keith to make out.

Amused at the realisation, Keith lay back down on the heather. There was no danger, after all, save of his sleep being disturbed for a little while longer.

He looked back towards the doorway, and beyond it, to where the surface of Loch Eil was no longer troubled by the driving rain of the evening: indeed, the clouds had now cleared away sufficiently to show stars glittering on the water of the loch, and the night air, though colder than most Julys Keith had known, was calm. It was quite the peaceful night scene—or would have been, had Keith not known what lay behind it. That he could not forget, in his present position. Indeed, just as this thought recurred to him the stars on the water were joined by a moving speck of lantern-light, apparently carried by a messenger on some night-time errand. Keith watched to make sure the man did not approach near the hut, but he was evidently bound for some other part of the great camp, and the lantern-light winked out and disappeared amongst the trees at the water's edge.

Ardroy's voice came again from the huddled plaid on the floor, interrupting his thoughts.

'Donald—they will come, the French—he does not speak empty words, I am sure of it. He shall bring them over in the end—we shall be strong enough... and _I_ shall not fail you. You cannot...'

Evidently Ardroy thought he was speaking to his adored chieftain, who, if he really had such doubts about the strength of the Pretender's son's chances, was once again showing rather better judgement than most of his comrades assembled here. Well, whatever doubts Donald Cameron in his wisdom might have had, they had not in the end been enough to persuade him to take a wiser course; and his own young Cameron, for all the faith he placed in his second cousin, obviously did not think very much of them.

Keith lay for a while listening to more in the same strain. He felt that perhaps he ought not to be hearing these words; certainly Ardroy would never have spoken them in his presence had he been given a choice about it, and knowing this it seemed rather dishonest to hear them anyway. However, the idea of leaving the hut until he quietened down hardly seemed promising; and, after all, it was not his fault if Mr Cameron would go talking about his private cares in his sleep for anyone who might be present to hear. No, Keith decided, he would stay where he was.

'To leave them—Aunt Marget—ah, but we must go, I must lead them, and she will be well...'

Adjusting his position on the heather—it was not the most comfortable of beds—Keith looked over towards where Ardroy lay, his face just visible in the gloom. He was frowning a little in his sleep, and his expression looked quite different from what it had been in the proud daylight of a few hours since. Seeing this, Keith felt a sudden and unaccountable fondness for him—and abruptly turned away again, pulling his cloak back around him.

Presently Ardroy's talking turned to Gaelic; which was something of a comfort to Keith, who, after all, need not have any scruples about hearing private thoughts which he could not understand, although he thought he made out the name of Donald once or twice more. Finally his speech faded away altogether, and he lay quiet and slept, apparently, soundly.

Keith, however, did not go back to sleep at once; he could not, for thinking about what he had heard. Was Ardroy, after all, such a fool as he had seemed the other day, when he told Keith that he was wasting his time in attempting to persuade Ardroy from the course he had chosen? He had surely spent enough time in Lochiel's company to understand—if the latter really had such misgivings as Ardroy's words suggested—something of how hopeless the position of the Pretender's son was, how little chance his supporters had of gaining what they sought. And he must know what he was risking on that chance; yet he altered his mind not for a moment.

Of course, it was right and natural to do one's duty even in the face of hopeless odds; and his experiences of the last few days now made it clear to Keith that Ardroy thought of this as his duty, as much as Keith ever had any of his own obligations as soldier and commander. In a way, he could respect that; and, seen in this light, Ardroy's reaction to his attempt at persuasion looked less ridiculous.

But the cause which Ardroy espoused so ardently was lost before the fight was begun—and, in any case, it could be no true duty to take up arms against one's lawful king. No belief in honour could alter the fundamental fact that the Pretender was just that and nothing more.

He looked at Ardroy again, sleeping peacefully now, and no longer frowning; his strong features looked quite fine in the faint light from the lantern, and a few wisps of auburn hair, disturbed by his earlier restlessness, strayed across his cheeks. Once again, but more keenly now, Keith thought what a shame it was that such a man should needlessly throw away so much; and a shame also that he himself must soon part from him. For a moment he wished that he had not been so eager for Ardroy to take what he had said to him earlier in the evening as nothing more than a foolish jest—but, after all, how could it be anything else?

*

Keith woke the next morning to find Ardroy standing in the doorway of the hut, adjusting the clasp of his plaid.

'Good morning,' said Keith, his tone rather more carefully light than it had been the previous day. 'Did you sleep well?'

Ardroy looked up in evident surprise. Of course, given Keith's late horror at his sleeping on the floor in a damp plaid, he might well have taken the whole thing for an extended sarcasm. 'Oh, tolerably well,' he said. 'You will excuse me—I must go to see Lochiel about some important matters.' And with that he vanished.

Clearly he remembered nothing of the night's events. Keith got up slowly from the bed of heather and walked over to the doorway, whence Ardroy's figure—always easy to pick out in a crowd—was still visible weaving in amongst the people milling around along the loch side. He would say nothing more about it, Keith decided; that was all for the best.


End file.
